Max
by Andela
Summary: We saw him try to murder his entire family in desperation to be free from fear, but what was it that led him to such an extreme act? This is his story as he discovers his powers and what caused him to turn on his family.
1. Beginning of an End

**A/N:** This is hopefully part one of a series focusing on the "children" we have seen so far. I randomly got the idea to write this while I was watching (what else?) a recent episode of Supernatural (Simon Said). I thought to myself, these "children" the demon has come to have their own stories that we unfortunately don't get to see much of. This story focuses on Max Miller, the young man whose tragic life, filled with abuse and neglect, was ended by his own desperation to escape the pain that haunted him all his life.

**Disclaimer: **As much as I wish I owned SN…alas…I do not.

**Rating:** T

**Max**

**Chapter One:**

**Beginning of an End**

"_Life is like a movie; if you've sat through more than half of it and its sucked every second so far, it probably isn't gonna get great right at the end and make it all worthwhile. None should blame you for walking out early.__" –Jon Ace_

Max Miller had had a headache for the past couple days and it was steadily growing worse. It had started in his temples until it had spread and wrapped itself around his skull like a vice, slowly crushing him. He had to take his time when standing up or sitting down so the room wouldn't go careening out of control. The light hurt his eyes and made him see stars and odd colors long after he had forced his lids shut. He tried, in vain, to blot out the sun by covering the windows and shutting his bedroom door so the light couldn't leak in. His dad had already griped at him, claiming that he was turning into some sun-phobic vampire, but Max was in too much pain to retaliate. He had taken more than enough Tylenol but it did nothing to relieve the pressure in his head. He thought of the studies performed in which fake painkillers were given to a select few while others were given the real thing; it turned out that the group given the false pills felt better while the other group remained unaffected.

He let out a tiny delirious grin before turning onto his side, planning to fool his brain into thinking he had taken he most powerful dose of morphine on the planet, when a sudden stabbing pain in his ribs sent him crashing back to earth again. He grit his teeth and buried his face in his pillow, pain rippling through his body. A long moment passed and he allowed himself to take a breath as the pain subsided. Carefully, he reached down and pulled at his shirt, examining the sea of bruises adorning his body. It didn't shock him that there were so many or some so massive that they all seemed to mesh into one immense black and blue blemish on his skin. He couldn't even remember what he had done to deserve the beating this time; he was so used to this that he had stopped trying to avoid getting hit by pleasing his bastard father. It seemed like just breathing in oxygen was enough to set his dad off these days.

He pushed his shirt back down and moved his covers around on his bed until he was mildly comfortable, despite his throbbing head and now aching sides. He stared at his wall for a few moments, unwilling to get out of bed and face the day. Normal people his age were out enjoying the beautiful day while he would rot here, nursing his wounds like some pathetic animal. Max would hide in the one place Jim Miller knew to look, so his father wouldn't hit him harder for trying to disappear. As often as he was ignored, Max simply couldn't make himself vanish when he really wanted to; Jim would find him. He always did.

He felt his eyelids get heavy and his body sink into the mattress; his body was just so tired. He was sure it was from either the sickness or the beating he had gotten the other night but he wasn't sure which. He didn't even try to stay awake and a pleasant numbness spread throughout his body, his world fading to black. He didn't try to resist and welcomed the sleep that overcame him.

For as long as he could remember his dreams consisted of nothing more than the usual punching and slapping replaced by nightmarish torture that left him shaking long after he had woken up. Even in his own private dream world he couldn't be safe. There was no way to escape the hurt his dad insisted on burdening him with. But this time it was different. There was no ache, or bruises, or blood. His father's absence was noticeable and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt safe. It was a sensation he relished and he let it fully conquer his senses until it left him breathless. He wanted nothing more than to remain in this single moment for all eternity. Max had no one to leave behind after all. No one could possibly miss a skid mark like him, save Jimbo, but that was only because his dad would have to find a new punching bag. His step mother probably wouldn't notice either until Jim felt like hitting something. But that was only because there wouldn't be a display for her to watch.

A ripple of hatred went coursing through his body, intensifying his desire to stay in this sanctuary he had been seeking all his life. He was now determined to stay here; he wouldn't let the natural process of waking up ruin it for him. And he would not go back. No matter what, he would never go back. He couldn't. He could feel the ghost of what could've been slipping away from him with each passing day in that house he called his home. With every insult or injury thrown his way, he lost a piece of himself. There wasn't much left; just a gaping hole that most people looked right through.

After he had decided he was to stay, everything suddenly went dark. Unsure of what was happening Max went completely still, trying to make sense of the black fog suddenly encircling him. But for some reason he couldn't seem to comprehend, he wasn't afraid. He still felt as safe as ever, though he knew he should be feeling differently. There was almost something menacing about the haze encompassing him.

Max went rigid with the realization he was no longer alone. There was some sort of presence here with him, but he couldn't make it out through the murkiness. He relaxed himself and looked around slowly, only to find a softly glowing pair of yellow eyes glaring at him through the darkness. And they were slowly coming towards him, a figure becoming visible as well.

Max knew he should run. He knew he should be terrified. But the being in front of him made no moves to harm him and only continued to move closer. Max brought himself to full height, which wasn't very tall, and waited. It was only a dream, right? He would always be able to manipulate it somehow and turn tail and scurry off if he had to.

Now the eyes were mere feet away from him and the glow in them seemed stronger than before. But Max figured that was because they were so close to him. He looked dead into the glowing orbs and opened his mouth to ask who, or rather what, this thing was.

_Max…_

Surprised it knew his name, Max tried to ask how it knew who he was but it spoke again.

_Max…welcome home._

A feeling Max was unfamiliar with now took hold and he found himself feeling…_loyal_ to this being.

"What do you want from me?" Max asked, his voice faltering.

Even though he couldn't see it, he could feel the smile stretching onto it's face.

_For you to not be afraid anymore._

Max was stunned. He didn't know how to respond, though he felt like he should. But he was at a loss for words.

_I know it hurts Max. You've been hurting your whole life. Now I am going to set you free. _

Rooted to the spot, Max didn't even try to run as the thing's hand shot out and come into contact with his forehead. Pain shot through his body for the second time and where his bruises were it burned like a fire was blazing on top of them. The center of his forehead throbbed so painfully he feared that his skull would crack open at any moment and his vision became dark once more. As he writhed in agony, his captor only tightened his hold on Max.

"Please…" Max gasped, his eyes watering and his breathing shallow and labored.

In a motion that seemed surreally familiar, for some inexplicable reason to him, the entity moved it's hands to cradle Max's head. The pain only increased to the point where Max couldn't even will himself to keep his wet eyes open. As the darkness claimed him, he felt it's breath on his ear.

_I have such plans for you my child…_

The pain vanished and Max sensed it's hands breaking away from his temples, but he was too afraid to open his eyes. He felt it leave him and he prayed to God or whatever he could think of to keep it from coming back. Hugging his knees to his chest, he buried his face and let out a small sob. He wanted that feeling of security to return, but now he wanted nothing more than to go home to his hard bed in his own room, Jim and his fists or not. Tears leaked from under his lids down his cheeks. What terrible creature would make him so afraid he would want to fall from Heaven into Hell again?

_Max…Baby, its okay._

His eyes flew open and he snapped his head up at the sound of a woman's voice he could only remember from his dreams when he was younger. He looked up to find a face he had only seen in older photographs looking down at him. He looked into the face of his mother, a warm smile on her lips, a warm light dancing in her beautiful blue eyes.

His jaw hanging open, Max reached for her white nightgown with his shaking fingers. He wanted to believe this was real so badly; he wanted her to take him away from the only life he had ever known. He couldn't make himself go back this time.

"Mom…please-"he whispered as his fingers lightly brushed the fabric. She looked exactly the way she did in the pictures; so peaceful and happy.

He tried to come up with something rational to say to her but all that was in his head were senseless thoughts. He had so much to ask her but he couldn't think of a single one. As though she could hear his thoughts, her face suddenly saddened and her smile became somber.

_I'm sorry. I can't stay here much longer._ Her voice echoed through the air, sending shivers down his spine. He clutched tighter at the fabric in his fist, willing her to stay. She couldn't leave him again.

He paused as he felt a warm liquid fill his hand. Confused, he pulled his now damp fingers away from her dress and watched a red coppery substance trickle down his fingers and dribble onto the ground.

"Mom, what-?"

He looked back up at his gorgeous mother and let out an ear piercing scream as he watched his mother's abdomen spill blood onto the immaculate gown adorning her perfect figure. She continued to stand there as an explosion of flames fully engulfed her, her dazzling eyes never leaving his.


	2. Devil in the Doorway

Chapter Two

**Devil in the Doorway**

"_Let them hate so long as they fear."__ -__Lucius Accius_

Max shot out of bed, sprinting down the hall to the small bathroom across from his parent's bedroom. The sound of the door slamming would probably piss Jim off but he was so overwhelmed with nausea he couldn't care less.

With his head leaning over the toilet he gagged violently and the remains of what little food he had eaten the previous day emptied into the porcelain bowl. His eyes burned and hot tears threatened to spill down his face; his sides ached from the convulsions and his stomach shuddered several times, acid burning his throat. The vomiting soon ceased and all that was left were the painful dry heaves. He felt the waves of nausea start to fade and once he was positive his torment had ended, he spit the bile from his mouth and wiped at his reddened eyes. He knocked the toilet seat over and weakly pulled the handle down, flushing its contents and let his body slowly slide down onto the cold floor. The cool tile felt wonderful against his scorching forehead; he continued to lie there, practically hugging the toilet until he heard the clicking of a doorknob.

Whoever opened the door didn't bother to come in. Max could only guess who it was and after a beat or two, he lifted his head to find Jim Miller standing in the doorway. His father made no motion to help him, nor did Max try to get up off the floor. A strange ringing filled the cramped room and the lights buzzed loudly as Max and his father to stare in the direction of the other but never actually made eye contact. After several very awkward seconds, it was Jim that decided to shatter the silence with the clearing of his throat.

"You done then?" he asked. There was no pity in his eyes as he spoke.

Max opened his mouth to answer but the only sound that came out was a set of barking coughs. Jim raised an eyebrow and waited impatiently for him to finish. Max swallowed the bile rising in his throat and mumbled a small yes, licking at his cracked lips. Jim nodded his head but didn't offer any verbal response. Max sighed and waited for his father to speak up, knowing full well that he would receive nothing more than some half-ass remark or criticism. After what had to be several minutes, Jim cleared his throat again and shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

"So, um...you, uh, didn't get any of it on the floor right?"

Max snorted in disbelief and simply nodded; he wasn't willing to actually verbalize a comeback. His dad made a face and narrowed his eyes.

"Good, because your mother didn't want to get out of bed and clean up your mess again. I didn't feel like dragging my ass out here either, but she figured you might've been pretty sick seeing as you managed to make as much of a racket as possible. But I can see you're fine now, so…" he trailed off.

Max couldn't keep himself from snapping at his father as anger boiled to the surface. He could hear the pounding in his head and the ringing from the lights seemed to grow even louder. He pushed himself off the floor as much as he could and supported his weight by leaning on the bathroom wall.

"Yeah…thanks, _Dad_. Really, I appreciate you 'dragging you ass out here' to make sure I wasn't dying or blowing chunks all over your precious floor" he retorted sarcastically. Jim stilled and his expression darkened.

"Don't you speak to me like that _boy_" Jim snarled, his knuckles cracking noisily.

Max knew he was in trouble now, but he couldn't seem to stop what came out of his mouth next.

"What? You gonna hit me now?" Max said darkly, rage sweeping him off his feet. "Go ahead you miserable son of a bitch. Take your best shot. In fact, why don't you go give Uncle Roger a call, have him come over and join in on the fun?" His head ached and the buzzing in his ears grew so loud it was almost painful. The lights flickered briefly before returning to their annoyingly bright selves.

Jim paused only to throw an irritated look at the fixture before turning his attention back the young man who was now shaking with rage, his pale blue eyes nearly blazing. The older man was so angry he was ready to crack the boy's skull open. Max's defiance was something Jim hadn't expected considering he had just beaten the shit out of the kid mere days ago. His suspicions were at last confirmed. His son was a hotheaded, suicidal delinquent.

Jim took a step towards Max, planning to beat his son until he was on the ground begging for mercy. Knowing where to strike first, he raised his fist, only to hear a loud shattering behind him. A searing pain in his hand caused him to yelp in surprise and warm blood slowly seeped from numerous small but deep cuts in his knuckles.

"The hell…?" Jim growled, unsure of what just happened. He knew light bulbs eventually ran out of juice, but he was pretty damn sure he had never seen a bulb literally 'blow out.'

He pulled the small pieces of glass from his hand and let them fall to the floor, clinking as they hit the tile. He brought his bloodied knuckles to his mouth and sucked on them to try and stop the bleeding, which had quickened considerably since wrenching the shards from his wounds. Blood trickled down his arm and Jim hissed as the tiny cuts stung painfully. He flexed them to make sure they could still bend properly and reached to twist the sink handle, avoiding the small splinters of glass littering the counter. The cold running water rinsed the blood from his skin into the sink, relief spreading through Jim's numbing fingers.

He turned the faucet off, flicking the droplets of water off his hands and turned to Max again, who had slithered down the wall back onto the floor. His son had a strange look on his face and beaded perspiration covered his pale forehead. The exploding light bulb pushed from his mind, Jim smirked, knowing full well what the boy had coming to him. Max knew it too. A tiny sadistic smile touched upon his father's lips and Jim turned and walked out the bathroom, leaving a wide-eyed, fearful Max on the ground to await his return.

* * *

The broken glass cleaned up and the realization of what had just transpired having settled in, Max trudged down the hall to his room. Jim had left for work so he knew it was safe to take his time; he didn't have to dart across the upstairs like burning coal was under his feet. 

He reached the door to his bedroom; it was still as dark and gloomy as he had left it less than a half hour ago and there was an oppressiveness to it that made it hard to breathe. Max strode to the window and ripped the curtains back, letting the gloominess of the rain match the way he felt. A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention and he looked down to see his step-mother walking out to get the newspaper. Her bright blonde hair whipped around her face as the wind picked up and her dark blue bathrobe billowed around her. He shuddered as he realized why his step-mom's hair left him feeling so anxious. That dream…it had been so terrifying, and yet so incredibly real.

A shudder ran through him and he gripped the windowsill for support; he forced his eyes shut and two yellow orbs appeared in front of his eyes and burned into his sockets. A wave of horror crashed through him and he snapped his eyes back open. He ran his clammy hands through his hair and backed away form the window, rubbing at his aching temples. Much to his misery his headache has returned, this time with a vengeance. The center of his forehead and his temples throbbed painfully.

He tried to forget the images he had seen last night. He tried to forget the feeling of dread that spread through his body when the creature's hand caressed his face, and the horrible pain that followed and penetrated his body. And most of all, he tried to forget his mothers eyes boring into his own.

A shiver ran through him and he realized how uncomfortable he was and he attempted to take his damp shirt off. He reached too fast and a dull ache from his time spent in the bathroom pulled at his sides. He waited for more pain from the damage done to his abdomen, but to his surprise, none came. He looked down to examine his bruises and see if they had healed any. Just wearing a cotton t-shirt had been his own private agony; throwing up was guaranteed to do nothing except cause more damage.

He wiped the sweat from his face and felt his lower ribcage, where Jim had been kind enough to flat out kick him. There should have been nothing but tenderness there and instead, he felt nothing. Confused, Max lightly pressed his fingers into his side and still, there was nothing.

He ran to the mirror on his dresser and gaped in shock at snow white, unscathed flesh. Where there had been an ocean of yellow, green and purple, there was nothing.

* * *

**Please let me know what you think.**


End file.
